


Fireworks

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four, X-Men
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fireworks, M/M, New Years, Party, and one couple breaks up, guest appearances by Charles Xavier & Pepper Potts, in which three couples get together, not necessarily in that order, two couples kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2861750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark’s New Year’s parties are world-renowned for their shenanigans. There is always an excess of alcohol, a long star-studded guest list, loud music, a dance floor- the works. Inevitably, something expensive is broken, a politician is caught doing something they oughtn’t, and Tony Stark ends up sleeping with someone. A lot of people end up sleeping with someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

This year, the object of Tony’s pursuit was quite obviously the enigmatic pale-skinned man with the snapping green eyes and the slicked-back black hair, impeccably dressed, with a voice like velvet. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Tony all evening. And Tony had, likewise, not taken his eyes off of Loki all evening.

Steve and Bucky were enjoying the chocolate fondue fountain, feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries.

Pepper was greeting various diplomats and generally being responsible.

Reed Richards was dancing with Susan Storm in a fascinating, unconventional way which involved lots of stretching and bending. Susan seemed somewhat disturbed. She kept casting glances at the gruff man in the corner whose muscular arms were folded over his barrel chest. He was wearing plaid flannel and looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Sometimes his eyes lingered on Jean Grey, who was chatting animatedly with Charles Xavier near the champagne. And sometimes, his eyes lingered on Susan.

Susan felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” asked a gruff voice she’d never heard before. She found herself face-to-face with the stranger in flannel. Part of her wondered how he thought flannel was appropriate formal wear for a Stark New Years party. Another part of her was oddly relieved to see someone casual enough to wear plaid flannel and blue jeans. Still, he could have shaved. That stubble was definitely at least a day old, and those sideburns were something else.

The side of the stranger’s mouth tilted up as Susan examined him. Much to his satisfaction, the dweeby guy with the stretchy powers had backed away, in what seemed an automatic response to the stranger’s intimidating presence.

“Um, sure..” Susan replied, somewhat relieved not to be dancing with Reed anymore. Not that she didn’t like Reed, maybe even love him. It’s just—he was really hard to dance with.

The stranger stepped close just as the music hit a slower tempo and put a large, calloused hand on her waist.

Susan blinked up at him in surprise, her cheeks dusted light pink with a blush. “I, uh…”

“You what? Don’t like dancin’?” He pulled her into position and started a simple, classical dance.

Her cheeks turned a rosier shade of pink. “No, I do, it’s just—” her heart was pounding and she felt a little light-headed. Must be nerves. “This is a little…” _intimate._

The stranger’s mouth tilted up again. “Difficult? –I can make it easier for you,” he offered.

“No!” Susan objected.

Before she could get another word out, the stranger was changing the steps so they rotated in a circle. “Good.” His eyes, Susan realized, were a very clear shade of blue. They contrasted beautifully with his strong, dark eyebrows. “I had a feeling you could dance better than that.”

Susan wasn’t sure whether that was an insult. Her eyebrows came together. “Excuse me?”

The stranger smirked. His clear blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “That dweeb you were dancin’ with before didn’t know what he was doing. He was makin’ you look bad.”

Susan stopped dancing to glare at the stranger. “That ‘dweeb’ is my fiancé!”

The stranger raised his eyebrows. “Your fiancé?” He attempted to start her up dancing again. “You can do better.”

Susan scoffed, taken aback. “For your information, I have known him for _years!_ He is a _very nice_ man, and he—he respects me!”

The stranger was unimpressed. “He’s not the only nice man out there, you know.” He succeeded in getting her to dance again. “And besides, ‘nice’ is overrated.”

Susan’s head felt so cloudy—nothing felt clear anymore. But the clouds in her head were all warm shades of pink an orange, like a sunset. Or maybe a sunrise.. “Nice is _not_ overrated. A woman needs someone who will treat her right!”

The stranger seemed amused. “Yeah? And you think just because he’s ‘nice’ that he’s treating you right?”

“Yes! I do!” Her hands tightened on the stranger’s hand and shoulder.

The stranger leaned closer to say, in a gravelly voice, right next to her ear, “Listen here, Princess. Dancing with that guy made you look like a fool. And the best thing you can say about him is he’s ‘nice’? I’ve had heartbreaks more passionate than your engagement. Do me a favor?” He backed away so he could make eye contact with her. “Don’t waste your life on this guy.”

Susan disentangled herself from the muscular, good-smelling, highly offensive man. “I won’t!” And she promptly walked away.

It took a moment for what she’d implied to sink in. He had to give her credit, the barb had been well-aimed. He wouldn’t advise anyone to waste their life with him.

He resumed his post against the wall, watching Jean.

His eyes kept wandering over to Susan.

Susan took a seat next to Reed. She was angry and unsettled. And for some reason, everything Reed was doing annoyed her. She was annoyed at _being_ annoyed.

Reed laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “How was the dance? You looked beautiful.”

Susan angrily processed the fact that a stranger said she looked awkward dancing with her fiancé (it _felt_ awkward dancing with her fiancé) and her fiancé said she looked _beautiful_ dancing with a _stranger_.

“I need a drink,” she said, standing abruptly and heading over to the bar.

As the bartender handed Susan her blue curacao-and-7up on the rocks, Susan felt a hand lightly touching her shoulderblade as someone took a seat next to her. She knew the light touch belonged to Reed. “Penny for your thoughts?” he was saying in his voice that reminded her of a 9-to-5 office job and life in a subdivision.

Reed flinched a bit at the look Susan gave him. She knew she was frowning; her head was so full. She tried to think about what exactly it was she liked about Reed. She couldn’t call him reliable; he’d flaked out three times now on their engagement, and the first time when she’d outright left, he hadn’t bothered to chase after her. They’d only been reunited through circumstance. She couldn’t call him a good leader, either—he was the self-appointed leader of the Fantastic Four, but more often than not it was Johnny doing something rash, Ben protesting or going along with it, and Susan fixing whatever Johnny messed up. Reed pretty much just drove their vehicles. He was never a very active participant in fights; he avoided conflict or confrontation in general.

Cold realization spread through her veins as she wondered, for the first time, whether she was staying with Reed because he was familiar. Because with him, she already knew what to expect, already knew what she was getting into. She had loved him once, and she hadn’t really thought about whether she still loved him, she’d always just taken it for granted that they loved each other.

But now as he was sitting next to her, hand hovering near her shoulder, concern in those plain brown eyes with the unremarkable eyelashes—Susan felt sick. “Why did you postpone our engagement?” She rubbed her forehead, not looking at him.

Reed dropped his hovering hand. “I told you, Susan, we had to. My sister is coming into town that weekend…” his voice faded more and more with every word as he kept listing off what suddenly, to Susan’s ears, felt like bullshit reasons to postpone a wedding. Her head was buzzing as she downed her drink, found her glass full again due to a refill she hadn’t noticed, and downed that one as well.

She held up her hand to stop him, heedless of whether or not he was still talking. “It’s off.”

Reed blinked. “What’s off?” He glanced down at his tie, wondering if he should straighten it. “I thought you said you liked this colour.”

Susan slammed down her empty glass with slightly too much force. “The engagement, Reed. It’s off.”

Reed’s hands stilled on his tie. “It’s off?” he repeated, looking a bit sad.

Susan glared at him. “Do you even love me anymore?!”

Reed was silent for a moment. “Of course I love you.”

Susan was on her feet. “Then why have you called off our engagement three times? Why didn’t you chase after me? You never take me on dates anymore. You never make time for me anymore. I am so sick of being taken for granted!” Several people were staring at them but Susan didn’t care.

“I… I’m sorry,” Reed offered quietly.

“You know what? No.” Susan squared her shoulders and straightened her back.

“No?”

“No,” Susan repeated. “I need a break. Come back for me when you love me.”

And with that, she walked away.

* * *

“Mr. Stark.”

“Alien-that-I-defeated-years-ago.”

Loki’s smile was half-wince. “Still not letting that go, are you.”

Tony stepped closer, his fifth alcoholic drink in-hand. “Matter of fact? No. I’m not. What are you doing here?”

Loki’s eyes flickered for a moment before settling into a cool, poised expression. “Just thought I’d enjoy the party.”

“Bullshit.” Tony closed the distance between them. “Why are you _really_ here?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t I allowed to have fun?”

“Not your kind of fun. What are you planning on blowing up? Conquering? Because I can tell you right now, this is _my_ tower. You’re not conquering that. And if you try to conquer America? Captain Hardass over there is not gonna let you get away with it. And neither will I.” He took a sip of his drink. “So. My question is, oh god-of-mischief-and-general-fuckery, what are you doing in my house?”

Loki was watching him coolly, almost amused. “Simply enjoying my evening.”

“You know I don’t trust you as far as the Hulk can throw you.”

Loki’s mouth tilted into another half-wince. “Well you must trust me somewhat then, because he can throw anyone quite far…”

Tony snorted. “Yeah? Well I’d like to see that.” He took another sip of his drink and clapped Loki on the back. “Maybe I can have _him_ throw you out. Y’know. If you try anything.”

“The only thing I’m trying,” Loki stated calmly, “is your weak Midgardian drinks.”

Tony’s hand flew to his chest. He was actually somewhat offended. “Weak! My drinks are not _weak.”_

Loki sipped at his elegant drink. He felt Tony’s eyes on the alabaster column of his neck as he swallowed. “This one is.”

“What’s that?”

“Acai berry martini.”

Tony made a dismissive noise. “Martini? No. You need something stronger. Come with me.” He led Loki to the bar and ordered him a dry whiskey, three fingers, no ice.

He proudly handed the drink to Loki and waited.

Loki sniffed the drink, looking unimpressed, and downed the thing in one go. He made a face. “That tastes awful.”

“But you’re feeling buzzed?” He _had_ to be feeling buzzed. Not even an Asgardian could taste that and not feel buzzed.

Loki shook his head. “Not even a little.”

“Holy shit. You need to get me some of that Asgardian stuff. –No wait! Scratch that.” He clapped Loki on the shoulder. “I’ll have _Thor_ do it. Him, I can trust.”

Loki scoffed. “You would trust that oaf over me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Loki loomed over him. “You would not _have_ a heartbeat if it weren’t for that gadget in your chest. I wonder what would happen if someone were to… alter it?”

“Are you _threatening_ me?”

“Merely pointing it out.”

“Because you know this is _my_ house right? And I have security, everywhere? I could literally have you thrown out right this second if I wanted to?”

“You won’t,” Loki stated confidently.

Tony scoffed. “And why is that, Mr. Tall Dark and Sinister?”

Loki leaned closer and said very quietly, “Because you would have already done it by now.”

Blood rushed to all the wrong places. “I could still throw you out.”

Loki smirked, inches from his face. “But you won’t.”

“Try me.”

“I intend to.” Loki ordered another berry-flavored drink from the bar.

“Wait, are you—was that an attempt at— _flirting_ with me?”

“What if it was?”

“Because that’s just—you can’t threaten my life one second and hit on me the next.”

“Can’t I?” Loki pulled his drink gracefully towards him and took a delicate sip.

Tony tried not to notice the way the god’s lips puckered or wrapped around the glass. Not two seconds later, he was imagining those lips wrapped around something else. “Wait, you cast spells on people.”

Loki swallowed his small mouthful. “Occasionally.”

“How do I know you’re not casting some sort of spell on me? Holy shit, I could be under your control right now and I wouldn’t even know it. Is that why I haven’t kicked you out yet?”

A tiny smirk quirked Loki’s lips. “I assure you, Stark, you are under no such spell.”

“You would say that. You’re the God of Lies.”

Loki winced. _“Mischief._ And I’m not a god.”

“Course you are. You’re Loki. From the mythology? Don’t think I didn’t do my homework, because I did. Brother of Thor, general fucker-up-of-things. Was that story about the goat true, by the way? Because damn.”

Before Loki could respond, Tony continued, “And the horse? Really? And don’t tell me that one’s not true, because we have footage of Odin riding on the damn thing. Now that is just _creepy._ And actually, come to think of it, if you’re willing to do that with a _horse_ , what makes me think that you hitting on me is flattering? You’d probably do every person in this room if you could. And actually, if you _do_ have some sort of seductive-magic-spell-mojo, you literally could, couldn’t you.”

“Stark,” Loki began, sounding a bit sharp, as though he was running short on patience, “I have no interest in sleeping with everyone in this room. And I wouldn’t need a spell if I chose to.”

“Prove it.”

Loki glanced around. “Follow me out to the balcony.”

“Why, so you can throw me off a building?”

Loki levelled an annoyed look at Tony. “Do you want me to show you or not?”

“Show me what, your dick? Because I’m sure your god-dick is impressive and everything, I just have no interest in seeing it.” Yet his feet were moving toward the balcony.

Loki’s mouth pulled into a grimace. “Don’t be so crass. That is not what I intend to show you.”

“Then what is it? Oh man, are you some sort of man-lady?”

Loki smirked. “Something like that.”

“Come to think of it, it was _you_ that gave birth to the horse. Holy shit. You have a vagina. You’re going to show me your godly vagin—wait what are you doing.”

They were alone on the balcony, and Loki’s form shimmered and shifted, like water, until the shimmering shape settled into a voluptuous female form. The curvy, pale-skinned female version of Loki faced Tony with a predatory smile. “Better?” she asked.

“Holy shit.”

She drew him closer. “I can be anyone I want… Anyone you’ve ever wanted to sleep with. I can make all your sexual fantasies come true.”

“Holy _shit.”_

Her finger was under his chin and her boobs were so— _boobs!_ Loki had _boobs!_

“You’re staring.”

Tony blinked. “Are—are you trying to hypnotize me with your _boobs?”_ His throat was so dry.

The female version of Loki chuckled. It was a dark, seductive sound, like velvet-wrapped dark chocolate, floating down a river of sex. “Like I said,” her form shimmered again and the male version of Loki finished her sentence, “I don’t need to.”

Tony pouted. “I liked the boobs.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “But you do believe me now?” It was only half-question. “I could have anyone in this room that I wanted. And I’d barely even have to try.”

Loki’s regular voice was pretty damn velvety too. “Yeah? Well so could I.” Tony’s throat was still dry.

Loki chuckled. “Seduce them with what, your money? Promises you’ll never keep?”

“Hey! You’d be surprised what money can get you.”

“I doubt that.” Loki gestured to his own tailored suit. “I’m not exactly poor, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Tony’s eyes were now roaming up and down Loki’s lean body. That suit clung to all the right places. Tony always went after the first person that caught his eye. And after that breakup with Pepper- thank whatever she’s so merciful because sweet, wonderful Pepper had agreed to continue being his CEO and business partner and general friend, and really, she deserved better than him anyway, not that anyone was really _that_ much better than him, and whoever he was, he was gonna have to pass a series of very strict tests constructed by Tony, and—anyway. Tony had fallen back into his old habits of seducing whoever he wanted. And tonight was no exception. He fully intended to be naked in bed with someone by midnight.

He just expected that someone to be less… _dangerous._

His dick twitched at the prospect. _Shit. Danger kink._

Loki’s mouth was twisted into a satisfied smirk as he loomed closer. “Perhaps you are _noticing_ something else?” He stroked a delicate finger against Tony’s cheek.

“Will you have sex with me?” Tony blurted.

Loki blinked, inches from Tony’s face. “That was… abrupt.”

“Don’t care. Will you?”

Loki glanced at the party he’d lost interest in, then back to Tony. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t ‘perhaps’ me, yes or no. I’m sleeping with someone tonight, and I’d like it to be you.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Not five minutes ago you were threatening to throw me out. You can’t just threaten me one minute and flirt with me the next,” he taunted.

“That is literally my line.”

“Not literally. I paraphrased.” Loki was leaning closer now, body hovering close enough that Tony could feel the gentle heat radiating off of him. His voice was intimately quiet.

“All right fine. I don’t trust you. But I’m not asking for trust. Just one night.”

“One night,” Loki echoed, leaning closer again.

“If I lead you to my bedroom right now, are you gonna follow me?”

Loki examined Tony’s face a few breathless inches away. “Yes,” he decided.

And thus, around ten p.m., less than halfway into the party, Tony disappeared into his bedroom and did not re-emerge for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Steve was so glad Bucky had regained most of his memories. He was different now, which is only to be expected considering his time as The Winter Soldier, but his Bucky was back and he remembered him and that was all that mattered to Steve.

Bucky ate the strawberry Steve fed him and was amazed for the millionth time that this was his life. Two years ago, he’d been fighting for Hydra against his will with no hope of escape, being forced to assassinate whoever they told him to, trying to assassinate _Steve_. He still remembered the awful pain he’d felt when he realized who Steve was, how much he meant to him. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to killing his Stevie.

Steve was watching Bucky with pure adoration. He ate the strawberry Bucky clumsily fed him; Bucky seemed to be lost in thought. Steve knew better than to push. Bucky would talk when he was ready.

“We’re gonna get fat if we just sit here eating strawberries.” Bucky stood and held out his flesh hand. “Wanna dance?”

Steve smiled gently and took Bucky’s hand. “I’d love to.”

“Friends dance, right?” Bucky double-checked as he led Steve to the dance floor. “That’s not weird now, is it?”

Steve’s smile was warm enough to melt ice cream. “Friends dance with friends,” he confirmed.

Steve had no idea how many other pairs on the dance floor were just friends, or co-workers, or anything other than a couple, but they were not the only same-sex pair, so he wasn’t concerned. He had learned pretty quickly that this century was much more relaxed about that sort of thing.

But it’s not like they were _dancing_. They were just… dancing. They weren’t even touching, just moving to the music, smiling, laughing, cracking jokes. They were obviously friends.

* * *

Johnny was done burning up the dance floor for now. He’d danced with every available-looking young woman in the room, and been turned down by all of them. He had no one to show off his dance moves to. So he wandered over to the bar and ordered something to drink.

He jumped a little when a man in a tan jacket sat down on the barstool beside him and said “That sounds good” in a strange accent and ordered one of the same thing for himself.

“You’ve got good taste,” Johnny remarked with a flirtatious smile, taking in the _incredibly handsome_ man beside him. The guy looked like he was chiseled from marble. Those cheekbones could cut glass. That stubble was Indiana Jones-rugged. That auburn hair was delightfully mussed and looked so soft- Johnny wanted to sink his fingers right in. And those eyes. _Holy shit. Red eyes._

The man in the tan jacket was, likewise, taking in the young man sitting beside him- vibrant with energy, defiant blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, plush lower lip, and a suit that showcased the outlines of his toned muscles. “So do you, mon ami. Ah’ve seen de pahtners ya’ve danced with. An’ danced wit’ most of ‘em mahself.”

“No shit. Any luck?”

The man in the tan jacket raised an eyebrow. “Ah’m sittin’ next tuh ya at the bar. Wha’ does that tell ya?”

“..Touché.” Johnny took a long, deep sip of his drink. The man next to him watched his throat bob. The arrival of his own drink seemed more of a distraction than anything. Johnny’s eyes swept over the tuxedo beneath the tan jacket. “Why the jacket? You cold?”

“Ah was thinkin’ of leavin’.”

“Leaving! But it’s only ten o’clock! What about the fireworks?!”

The man shrugged. “Ah can make mah own.”

 _“You._ Make _fireworks._ ”

The man arched an eyebrow. “Yes,” he repeated slowly. “Ah make fireworks.”

“Show me.”

Which is how Johnny Storm and Remy LeBeau ended up on the roof of Stark tower, at ten-thirty on New Year’s Eve, wearing tuxedos and just a bit buzzed on alcohol.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Dis jacket is wahm. Wha’ abou’ you, mon ami? Ahn’t _you_ cold?”

“Pfff, nah! I’m The Human Torch! –Here, check this.” He ignited his hand. Remy stared, intrigued. Johnny closed his hand, extinguishing his conjured flame. “My body temperature is somewhere around 220 degrees Fahrenheit. Meaning, it’s really hard for me to get cold.”

Gambit had set down his drink and pulled a stack of cards from his pocket. He picked one up. His eyes glowed red as he charged the card; the card glowed bright purple. Remy tossed the card up into the air. It exploded.

Johnny stared with fascination. “Whoa! How did you do that?!”

“Ah ‘ave some control ova kinetic energy. Wha’ dat means is, if Ah touch somethin’ long enough, an’ charge it, th’ molecules become unstable an’ de object explodes.”

“That is _so_ cool,” Johnny enthused. “Except, wait—” He frowned. “Doesn’t that make—uh— _bathing_ kinda difficult?”

Gambit raised his eyebrows. “Ah can touch organic material wit’ou’ makin’ it explode, mon ami. Fah example,” Gambit touched Johnny’s cheek. His eyes glowed red.

Johnny prepared for his head to explode.

But nothing happened. Gambit’s fingers were still on his cheek, his eyes were still inches away and glowing bright red, but Johnny’s cheek didn’t feel any different.

Gambit removed his fingers and his eyes went back to normal. “Your skin really is wahm,” he remarked softly.

Johnny found himself staring. “Uh.. yeah. Told you.” His voice was a bit breathless. He cleared his throat and said more loudly, “So what _can_ you explode?”

Gambit smirked. “Everythin’ else.” He picked up a feather, charged it, threw it into the air. It exploded. He found a small piece of metal. Charged it, threw it, watched it explode.

Johnny was fascinated.

“Wha’ abou’ _you?”_

“Me?” Johnny repeated, startled.

Gambit stood closer. “Ya ‘ave fire powah. Don’ tell meh ya neva tried tuh make anythin’ explode.”

Johnny grinned. “Of course I have!”

“Show meh,” Gambit urged, standing even closer.

“Uhh..” Johnny’s mind went blank for a moment and he found himself admiring the shape of Gambit’s mouth. He shook his head, bringing himself out of his stupor, and formed a fireball between his hands. “Watch this.” With a grin, he threw the fireball towards his sitting drink. The ball of fire ignited the alcohol. The drink inside the glass transformed into a mass of flames, which rapidly expanded and makes the glass explode.

Fortunately, they were far away enough that the glass shards fell harmlessly at their feet.

Gambit was stunned for a moment, then laughed uproariously. He smacked Johnny on the back. “Tha’ was fantastic! Do it again.”

Johnny grinned, formed a second fireball, and threw it at Gambit’s drink. The same thing happened: the liquid caught fire and the glass exploded.

Both laughed and ended up hugging each other. Johnny realized, as his laughter died down, that his hands were clutching the front of a man’s tan jacket, and that man’s hands were warmly gripping his shoulders, and his forehead was only an inch away from a very good-smelling broad chest, and when he looked up, he found a pair of red eyes regarding him with what could be described as sultry interest.

Johnny abruptly released his hold on the man’s jacket, brushed the part he was gripping to smooth out the wrinkles he caused, and backed away, blushing. “So uhh… want some more drinks? I could use another drink.”

Gambit seemed disappointed. “Ah don’ need anotha’ one. But if you’re goin’ back inside, Ah ain’t gonna stay out here alone..”

Johnny turned a more tomato-like shade of red. “No, no! That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just—okay let’s get more drinks and come back up here, all right? –I like talking to you,” Johnny explained when Gambit appeared surprised.

Both found that they no longer wanted to be around other people; as soon as they were back inside the hot, bright building, packed with bodies and pulsating with loud music, neither want to stay for long. They only stayed long enough for the bartender to hand them their drinks. Once their drinks were in-hand, they made a beeline for the roof.

* * *

All around her, Susan saw couples. Couples dancing, couples drinking, couples laughing. Even her _brother_ seemed to have paired off; she’d seen him come back with the handsome man in the trenchcoat, just long enough for both of them to grab matching drinks from the bar and disappear again to wherever-they-were-going. Neither spared more than the briefest glance at anyone else in the room. They left even faster than they’d arrived, almost like they couldn’t wait to be alone together again.

She took some comfort in observing the kind-looking bald old man in the wheelchair, who also seemed to be alone that evening. A redheaded woman kept chatting with him, but she spent most of her time with her date, a guy in gaudy red sunglasses who looked at her like she was the moon. The woman’s smile warmed whenever she looked at the man in the sunglasses.

But the old man, at least, was alone like her. She wondered if he’d loved and lost, as well.

She also wondered if this ought to hurt more. Her relationship with Reed spanned a good eight years of her life, if one counted the breaks between when they’d been together. He’d become such a stable aspect of her life.

She hated herself a little for one conversation with a stranger making her question so much of her life for the past five years. Those first years with Reed had been charmed, it seemed. He’d showered her with gifts, told her she was beautiful all the time.

Susan wasn’t selfish or materialistic. The gifts had been nice, but it was the attention, the adoration, that she’d really craved.

And now she found that she was craving it again.

Susan felt a firm, warm hand on her shoulder as a solid presence sat beside her. “Why so glum?”

Susan sent a miserable glance to the stranger in the flannel beside her. “Come to gloat?” she taunted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there something I should be gloating about?”

She frowned at him. “I broke up with him. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Several emotions flickered across the stranger’s face before he took a long sip of his beer. He set it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Sure you are.” She could feel his eyes watching her.

“I am,” he insisted, voice sincere. “But I’m not exactly a great shoulder to cry on. So if yer gonna get all emotional, this is the part where I bow out.”

She scoffed at him in disbelief. “So, what. You’re just gonna waltz into my life, break up my engagement, and _leave?”_

He smirked. “Yup.”

She frowned at him in disbelief.

His clear blue eyes scanned her face. “-For now,” he amended. He stood and squeezed her shoulder with his large, warm hand. “But if you ever wanna find out what it’s like to be with someone who’s more than just _nice_ … give me a call.”

She glared at him with one eyebrow raised. “Kind of hard to do that if I don’t have your number.”

He smirked. “You askin’ for it?”

“You’re an _asshole!”_ she declared, standing to face him.

He held up his hands.

“Guilty as charged. What’s yer point?”

“You--!” She pointed an angry finger at his chest, but as soon as the tip of her finger met the seam between those broad pecs, her words were lost.

His smile was a little too soft to be gloating. “Logan Howlett.”

“Susan Storm,” she replied automatically, slowly dropping her finger from his chest, tracing the seam between his pecs as her finger lowered.

He smiled down at her finger.

“I’m not looking you up in the phone book,” Susan declared.

He smirked. “Don’t need to. See you, Susan.” He backed slowly away.

“I doubt it,” her voice said. But, _I hope so,_ her eyes said.

Feeling treacherous hope build inside his chest, Logan turned and left the party before he could dig himself into an even deeper hole.

Susan didn’t want to stick around and see everyone else kiss at midnight, so she sent a text to Johnny, and she left as well.

* * *

“Some party huh?” Johnny joked before taking a long sip of his drink.

“Ah’m sure it is,” Remy remarked before doing the same.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, looking out onto the city. “Ah heard de view of the Times Square fireworks is mahvelous from up here..”

“Guess we’re gonna find out.”

“Guess so.”

“What time even is it anyway?”

“…Bout eleven-thirty.”

“Fuck. I’ve been talking to you for an _hour?”_

“An’ a half, yeah. Doesn’ feel dat long.”

“No, it doesn’t! Holy shit.” Johnny laughed.

Gambit regarded him warmly. And speaking of warm.. “Ah am a little cold, now dat de wind’s pickin’ up.”

“Yeah? C’mere, stand closer,” Johnny offered, arms outstretched.

“Ya sure ya don’ mind?”

Johnny made a face and held his arms out emphatically, repeating his offer.

Gambit stepped closer and tentatively reached up to wrap one arm loosely around Johnny.

Johnny wrapped both arms around Remy and rested a cheek on his chest, turning up his body temperature a little bit just in case. “Better?”

Gambit wrapped both arms more securely around Johnny Storm. “Bettah,” he agreed.

* * *

Bucky wondered how shit-eating his smile appeared. With his memories of Steve had come back all the feelings as well. He wondered if Steve realized what Bucky had meant all those times he’d promised to be with him till the end of the line, all those times he’d beat up, even killed guys to keep Steve safe. Wondered if Steve had ever felt his eyes on him while he scratched away at his sketchbook, or led troops into battle… if he’d ever felt the bitter jealousy whenever he saw Steve with Peggy. He doubted it; Steve had been too enamored with Peggy to notice much else.

Steve tried to keep his eyes on Bucky’s face, tried not to let himself notice the scent of Bucky’s sweat, or the way his teeth gleamed when he smiled, or the way his muscles shifted under his skin. He tried to push away all those memories of Bucky holding him through the night, wondered for the millionth time why he didn’t just ask Bucky to do it again. Because friends cuddle, right? When it was winter in the army, and there weren’t blankets for warmth, body heat was the next best thing, it didn’t have to mean anything right?

Except it wasn’t cold. Steve’s bed was warm; so was Bucky’s.

Warm and soft, and lonely.

Steve hadn’t realized he’d stopped dancing.

“Tired already?” Bucky teased.

Steve’s eyes caught on the curve of Bucky’s lower lip. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Well, you’re in luck.” Bucky swept his sweaty bangs back from his face. “They’ve switched to something slower.”

Steve blushed. The music had segued into an ‘80s ballad which started off with a pleasant piano riff.

Bucky slipped on a mask so Steve wouldn’t know this was one of the most-played songs on his ipod. He offered to take Steve into a slow-dancing position. Steve was relieved that their chests weren’t touching, because he was sure Bucky would have felt his heart pounding.

As soon as the lyrics began, Steve’s eyes widened. It was like the lyrics had crashed into him. _‘I can’t fight this feeling any longer… And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow… What started off as friendship has grown stronger…’_

Steve stared at a point in space past Bucky’s left shoulder as the lyrics continued crashing into him. He had chills tingling up his spine, his hands were sweaty, and he knew he looked like he’d just been struck by lightning, but by some miracle, Bucky hadn’t said anything.

Bucky was wondering if he should just tell him. His hands were on Steve’s waist; Steve’s hands were on Bucky’s shoulders. They were swaying back and forth, stepping in a small circle, and Bucky was staring at Steve’s chest, wondering if he should just give in and rest his cheek there. _‘I tell myself that I can’t hold out forever… I say there is no reason for my fear…’_

 _All this time,_ Steve thought. _All this time…_ The lyrics crashed over him like ocean waves and he knew he was in over his head. Everything suddenly made sense, like he’d had the puzzle pieces this whole time, the last one was just facing the wrong way and he hadn’t bothered to solve it. The reason he hadn’t been interested in any of the dates Natasha tried to set him up with. The reason he’d felt so devastated when he thought Bucky was dead. The reason he could never seem to feel happy, even two years—or seventy years—after. The reason his world suddenly seemed to go from black-and-white to colour the second he saw The Winter Soldier without his mask.

Bucky decided he couldn’t fight the feeling anymore and let his cheek rest against Steve’s chest, lightly, in case Steve didn’t want him to. His heart skipped a beat when he heard how loudly Steve’s heart was pumping.

Steve concentrated on moving his feet, keeping them turning in their little circle, but Bucky’s head was resting against his chest and he could smell Bucky’s shampoo and he just wanted to bury his nose in Bucky’s hair and hold him close and—come to think of it, what was stopping him? Maybe Bucky was tired, and wasn’t even paying attention to the song. Friends hug, right?

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him.

Bucky, likewise, wrapped his arms around Steve. He’d forgotten why he’d started fighting this feeling in the first place, because holding Steve had to be the most wonderful feeling in the world. He was so warm and solid, so secure. The soap he used was so simple. The way it mingled with his natural musk was so intoxicating. He could feel Steve exhaling against his hair, each breath warming his scalp.

Steve had no idea how long he’d felt this way. He’d _always_ felt this way about Bucky, he’d just never really thought about it. Because best friends were supposed to have a close bond, right? Best friends were supposed to care about each other, do anything for each other… and Bucky had always been objectively handsome, a person would have to be blind not to notice. And charming. And smart, and funny, and brave, and generally likeable. Those were just _facts_. Steve noticing these things had never really meant anything.

Until tonight. Because the way Bucky’s expression looked torn as he lifted his head, the troubled longing deep in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked up from Steve’s collarbone to his lips, and finally to his eyes—Steve dared to hope Bucky felt the same.

As the second refrain began, Steve crashed his lips against Bucky’s.

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, and then he was pulling Steve closer and angling his face so he could kiss him back more firmly. Steve’s lips were even softer than Bucky’d imagined. And Steve kissed exactly the way he hugged- he made the person he was embracing feel like the safest, most important person in the world. Like every ounce of muscle in that ridiculously attractive body was dedicated to taking care of you.

Kissing Bucky felt so _right._ Steve couldn’t believe he’d never thought to try it before. Sure, he’d contemplated the shape and texture of Bucky’s lips while drawing him, or watching him eat, or watching him speak—but that was just an artistic thing, or so he’d told himself. Sure, he’d always wondered how they felt, but he’d never really thought too much about it. But now that those plush red lips were pressed against his, Steve felt this overwhelming sense that everything was right with the world.

Bucky knew Steve wouldn’t deepen the kiss unless he did first, so Bucky tipped his head a bit more and started opening his mouth.

Steve responded immediately, kissing him with all the love he’d always felt and never put a name to.

That Bucky loved Steve had never even been a question. Bucky had always known he’d love Steve to the grave. But that Steve was holding him like this, kissing him like this, was more than Bucky could have ever asked for, and everything he’d always needed.

Dancers swirled around them, unnoticed by the couple, still lost in the kiss. Some had stopped and gawked. A few snapped pictures.

But Steve and Bucky were oblivious to all of this, completely wrapped up in each other. They had no idea how long they kissed, only that when they pulled back to look at each other, the tempo had picked back up again and a different song was playing.

“So you…?”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged shy smiles.

“And you…?”

“Yeah.”

Their smiles widened. Steve wrapped Bucky into another engulfing hug which Bucky gladly folded into. They held each other for a long moment.

Then, with a self-conscious snort, Bucky pulled back. “All right, enough of that. Are we gonna dance or what?”

Steve smiled adoringly at Bucky. “Of course.”

Bucky disentangled himself, hands trailing down Steve’s arms as he pulled away. He gave himself a measure or two to gather the beat of the music and launched back into his dance moves.

Steve danced with him, and didn’t take his eyes off Bucky for the rest of the night.

Bucky was more than okay with that.

* * *

“So how’s a guy like you end up alone on New Year’s Eve?”

Gambit shrugged. “How does a guy like _you_ end up alone on New Year’s Eve?”

“I asked first.”

“..Well, neither of us is exac’ly alone now...”

Johnny was quiet for a moment, letting the warm implications of this statement sink in. “True…”

They stood that way for another long moment.

“So… you’re not seeing anyone, then?” Johnny prompted.

“No one in particula’. Though someone ‘ _as_ caught my eye.”

Johnny’s mind started spinning at this statement. “Oh?”

“Mmhmm,” Remy remarked, nuzzling the side of Johnny’s warm, warm head. “Ya coul’ say a certain _flame_ has sparked.”

“Flame?” Johnny perked up.

Remy’s eyes glittered.  “Heat and energy ‘ave gone together since de beginning of de universe.”

Johnny let this sink in for a moment. “Could you say their chemistry is… _explosive?”_ he ventured with a cheeky grin.

Gambit chuckled. “Dere are _fireworks_ when we’re togetha’.”

They could hear people counting down.

_Twenty-three…! Twenty-two…!_

Johnny Storm always had someone to kiss at midnight. He’d never meant for it to be romantic or anything, it was just a great way to bring in the new year. But his grin fell as he realized how much he _wanted_ to kiss Gambit at midnight.

Gambit seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his eyes were hooded and he was leaning closer.

_Ten…! Nine…!_

Johnny was tilting his head.

_Eight…! Seven…!_

Remy was pleasantly warm all over for at least three reasons, most of which had to do with Johnny Storm.

_Six…! Five…!_

Their lips connected in a soft, tentative kiss. Their eyes fluttered shut. The countdown faded to background noise. They barely heard the noisemakers, the whistles, and the shouting. For a moment, they were completely wrapped up in each other, focusing on the feeling of a warm pair of lips pressed against their own.

What caused them to break the kiss is the first whistle, pop, bang, and fizzle of a firework. They held each other, Remy’s cheek resting against Johnny’s forehead, arms wrapped around each other, and watched the fireworks explode above New York City. The view really was spectacular from there.


End file.
